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2007-09-22

Her 4 O' Clock

Dr. Mary Abbrielle stretched. Her hand went to the small of her back as she rubbed at the ache. "I have got to get back to the gym" she muttered to herself. She glanced at the clock on her desk. It was hidden from the comfortable furniture her patients could choose to sit in. She sighed with relief as she still had six minutes before her last appointment of the day. Maybe she'd go swimming tonight. Yes, she'd definitely get some swimming in, she could use the exercise. Dr. Abbrielle tried to reduce the ache in her back by touching her toes a bit. She tried leaning sideways and it did ease the pain up a bit. She walked over to her desk. 3:57, time to review her notes for her four o'clock. It was a talker.

Dr. Abbrielle divided her patients between doers and talkers. Doers actually worked on their problems. The work might not often benefit the patient, they might not progress every week, but at least they made a good faith effort at resolving their problems. Talkers, on the other hand, were stuck. For whatever reason, usually fear of pain, they refused to budge off the spot. That was why she always scheduled a talker for her final appointment of the day. There was less chance of an epiphany, and less stress on her when it came time to go home.

Mr. Dale was a talker. He had been referred as pro bono. Mr. Dale was 49, overweight (not that the good Doctor couldn't stand to lose a few pounds, she chided herself), and a diabetic. A good work history up to eight months ago, but now he was out of work, and for some reason he couldn't get motivated to look for work beyond a token weekly search on the internet. Dr. Abrielle studied her notes. Then the discrete warning light glowed. The light was also hidden from her patients. It let her know when her office door opened. Her four o'clock had showed up. She let him wait the minute and at four opened her door and invited Mr. Dale into her inner office.

Mr. Dale slid into the large chair. His red jacket sleeve showed evidence of its dual use as handkerchief and napkin while the tomato stain on his yellow pocket t-shirt gave Dr. Abbrielle a hint of his luncheon menu. Dr. Abbrielle greeted him, then sat and waited. Uncomfortable silence was a very useful prod with talkers. But today it wasn't working all that well.

Mr. Dale fidgeted and rubbed his nose. He looked back at the Doctor, then reported as he always did the number of resumes he had e-mailed and faxed that week, then that he had an interview. "And have you been watching your blood sugars?", she asked.

Mr. Dale nodded, "I have them down to 176!" her said with pride.

"That's not good enough." Dale deflated, then muttered, "I know..."

Dr. Abbrielle hesitated. "In fact, I have another issue we need to discuss. How long have we been meeting?"

"I don't know...maybe, what, five months?"

The Doctor nodded. "The thing is, you've defined your problem very clearly in those months, but you don't seem to have made significant progress. There may be reasons for that ..."

"I AM really comfortable with you Dr. Abbrielle. Honest!"

"I know you think that, Mr. Dale. But whereas classic analysis CAN take a long time for the patient to come to grips with their situation, the methodology I use can sometimes identify when a patient cannot or will not take the further steps needed to resolve their issues. And I think that describes your situation."

"No Doctor. Please, I'll ... I'll try."

Dr. Abbrielle smiled. "Mr. Dale., its not a matter of trying, or failing. Rather there is just that my methods are not productive with you and I suggest that another doctor might provide you with a more successful attack to your problem."

Mr. Dale was quiet. He sat there. Slits of light from the closed Venetian blinds stretched across the wall. Mr. Dale started, "It's just that...it's just". His fist raised and hit the arm of the chair.

There was a pause.

"It's just that..." Dr. Abrielle prompted.

There was another pause.

Dale shook his head. "You wouldn't like it..."

"Please," she smiled, "I'm not here to judge your life, only to help you deal with your issues."

"There are issues, and then there are ISSUES, Dr. Abbrielle."

She raised her hand palm up. "If you don't share the information, there is nothing I can do to - "

Dale cut in "I control people."

Dr. Abbrielle tilted her head. "We all influence an try to control people. Being persuasive, trying to meet our needs and goals is part of being human. If you feel you are being manipulative..."

"No. I control them. I make people do whatever I want them to."

Dr. Abbrielle sighed to herself. She had missed something. Her diagnosis didn't include these delusions.

"I am not having delusions Doctor. I can make you do whatever I want. I always have been able to do that."

"And I suppose this is where I demand that you prove it."

"I suppose it is."

There was a pause. Something tickled her back brain. Too many episodes of the Twilight Zone, she supposed. She dismissed it. She smiled. "Prove it Mr. Dale."

"Are you sure, Doctor?"

"Quite sure"

Mr. Dale gave a semi-smile. "I DID ask..."

Dr. Abbrielle unbuttoned her jacket. "I'm waiting..."

"It's not like a comic book. It's not 'Simon Says' Doctor.."

"Call me Mary, sir." She dropped her jacket on the floor.

"Its not 'Simon Says' Mary. Me ordering you about. It's inside."

"Inside?" she undid her tie and taking an end in each hand rubbed it back and forth across her ass.

He nodded. "Inside. I send my subject a command. My subject's mind just processes the command perfectly normal thought and acts on it. I never have to say it out loud"

She slung the tie across the room, then bent over facing him. She slowly unbuttoned her blouse, letting her breast lay low. She purred like a kitten, then said "So I could be doing something I would never normally do, but I would be thinking it perfectly normal?"

"That's right"

She shrugged her blouse off and then unsnapped her bra and dropped it. Then she stood up. "That's a very good story, Mr. Dale. But there is an obvious hole in it", she pinched her nipples which started to harden into tight erasers, "if it seems perfectly normal to me, here would be no - mmmm - no - ahhh - way you could prove to me tha tha that oh goddd that it was you controlling me."

"True, unless someone else came in and pointed out that you were topless.."

"But I am always topless for you. I enjoy showing my large creamy breasts, err titties to you. I want you to suck my titties."

"Isn't having sex with a patient inappropriate?"

"Yes"

"Almost as inappropriate as calling your bosom 'titties'?"

"To a patient, yes. Don't you want to suck my titties?"

"Maybe later."

Dr. Abbrielle took some notes. It was a persistent illusion. She stopped writing long enough to pinch her nipples back into hardness. "So does your power have limits?"

"Well yes. I can't make the whole world do as I wish. And I have to be in contact with the person...in the same room, or on the phone. Although with a lot of positive reinforcement and repeated contact I can control a person even if I am not there n person."

"I only had this power since 186- err since I was a teen-ager. I couldn't bring myself to use it on my parents. I can't seem to bring myself to force a person to do something wrong or hurt themselves.... It just doesn't seem right. On the other hand, to make a person do something pleasing to themselves..."

Dr. Abbrielle nodded as she stepped out of her skirt. This WAS a well defined psychosis. "And can you 'control' more than one person at a time?" She took off her shoes and then slid her pantyhose off, glad to be out of them.

"Well Mary, I can't control Yankee stadium, but a handful of people... sure"

Dr. Abbrielle giggled and wiggled out of her panties and handed them to Mr. Dale to hold and smell. As he took a couple minutes to enjoy them, she worked on how to approach his delusion. Perhaps if she (she stopped to roll the pantyhose into a tight small ball and slide it into her ass, wincing as her buttocks stretched bit more than usual, then sighed as pain turned to pleasure..) confronted him with the realit - she moaned - realities of it... "Mr. Dale, if you mmmm you could do this, why don't you? Why not march into a bank and tell them to give you cash?"

Dale nodded, "Good point mary. You tell me."

Dr. Abbrielle giggled and then started fingering her clit. "I I guess because of computers?" She giggled more, then really started rubbing her clit harder.

Dale nodded. "Exactly. The transaction could be traced to a clerk who would have to explain why she (or he) gave me more money than was in my account. I can control people, but not numbers. And I can only control them in person."

Dr. Abbrielle opened her purse and took out all her money and handed it to Mr. Dale. She wrinkled her forehead and looked at her purse. She studied it and muttered "So you couldn't get someone to hand over a check or a credit card because it could be traced..." she tried to think why she had her purse out. She looked up at Mr. Dale to see him sliding $300 dollars into his wallet. That was funny, she had $300 in her purse - well, she did before she spent it on lunch. Oh well. She put her purse down and focused on stroking her clit harder.

Dale continued as she slid her left nipple into her mouth and tamped the pantyhose more tightly into her ass. "Same with other things. I can't make you make love to me, for instance. Much too risky. The objective evidence couldn't be easily explained. I can't make someone hire me for a job - these days you have to justify hiring and performance appraisals - I suppose it was a lot easier a couple of centuries ago when you could stake out a little land and make everyone serve you." Dr. Abbrielle came, then slid the ball from her ass then kissed Mr. Dale. "Maybe it was even easier last century, when you could use your abilities to become a robber baron and there wasn't enough scrutiny to stop you. But these days..."

He stopped to give Dr. Abbrielle the chance to rub his cock between her large aching breasts.. He might not risk fucking her, but there WERE other pleasures.

"I can see where it would be hard, sir."

Dale nodded. "Of course, there are ways. Find a professional...someone who might not be rich or famous, but well off..."

"I would LOVE it if you would move in with me. "

"I never thought you'd ask, mary"

"Call me your slut sir. And may I call up Tami Netherton. I am sure you would enjoy her butt and titties. I know I would love to suck her off for you."